A Good day to die

18

The phone call finally came at half two in the afternoon while I was eating a lunch of fish soup with aioli mayonnaise in a small French place down in the West End on Goodge Street. I hadn't felt like heading back to the hotel after breakfast, and since there was a pause in the rain I'd started walking in the direction of the Thames, taking the opportunity to reacquaint myself with the sights and sounds of the city I'd left behind.

I put down my wine glass and pulled the phone from my pocket, wondering whether it was going to be Blondie, the man who'd claimed to be Les Pope, re-establishing contact. I hadn't heard from him in close to twenty-four hours, so was expecting to receive another of his threats at some point, now that it was obvious I'd missed my plane.

But this time a number was scrolling across the screen, so given his penchant for secrecy, I figured it wasn't him. I was right, too. It was Emma, and I felt a twinge of excitement at the sound of her voice. I think I was getting sad in my old age.

'How was last night?' I asked her.

She made a dismissive noise. 'It was all right. Nothing special. I spent a lot of money and I've got a hangover. Like a lot of Sunday mornings, really.'

'Well, take it easy for the rest of the day. That's what Sundays are for.'

'Do you think I've just been lying in bed, then?'

'No, of course not.'

'Because I haven't. I've been doing work. Work that you requested. You wanted Les Pope's home address.'

Suitably chastened, I asked if she'd got it.

She reeled off the address and phone number of a place in Hampstead, while I scribbled them down.

'He's been there two years,' she added, 'and he lives alone. I can't get hold of his mobile, though. I don't think there's one registered in his name. But you must have his number if you had his phone.'

'I've got it somewhere, don't worry about it. Did your article come out this morning?'

'Front page.'

I could hear the pride in her voice, and resisted the urge to remind her yet again to be careful. 'Well done. And thanks again for your help.'

'I haven't had a chance to look into Pope's background yet, but I will do. How are you planning to get him to talk, by the way?'

'I have my methods,' I answered cryptically, wondering about that myself.

'Don't do anything that's going to get you into trouble.'

'It's very nice of you to be concerned.'

She laughed. 'I don't want anything happening that's going to mess up the story.'

'I'll pretend I didn't hear that,' I said, thinking that that was the first time I'd actually heard her laugh. Maybe it was a good sign.

We said our goodbyes and I hung up and went back to my fish soup, which was tasty enough but curiously devoid of fish. I finished it off, though, then ordered a coffee and a slice of apple tart.

There was no point making my visit to the elusive Mr Pope on an empty stomach.